


caribbean night

by thesummerpalace



Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: Canon Jewish Character, College, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:14:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29219325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesummerpalace/pseuds/thesummerpalace
Summary: Mark isn't big on parties.Eduardo makes it up to him.
Relationships: Eduardo Saverin/Mark Zuckerberg
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	caribbean night

**Author's Note:**

> also known as the (off-screen) events following caribbean night (at AEPi.)

Mark and Eduardo loiter outside the Hillel event hall, a silent agreement having fostered between them to avoid the kitschy reception inside. The piercing chill of Boston winter has Eduardo constantly moving around to generate any warmth possible, his Hawaiian shirt not quite suitable for the conditions.

“Nice night.” Mark jests, starting to feel bad for his friend who’s after all only staying out here to accommodate _his_ loathing of social gatherings, loud music, and lazy themes.

Eduardo shoots him a ludic glare. He leans in and stops a few inches from Mark’s face. They’re dead quiet again as Mark intently stares down at Eduardo’s lips, Eduardo blowing a frosty vapor at Mark and permeating the awkwardness.

“Jesus.” Mark affectedly smiles, looking down at the pavement below him. Puddles of slush remain here and there from snow earlier in the week, he notes.

He snaps back in when Eduardo playfully smacks him on the arm and grabs the door handle.

“See you inside?”

Mark puts his hands in his pockets and nods, Eduardo not taking his eyes off of Mark just yet. He needs that confirmation.

“Yeah. Don’t wait for me. I’ll go back in soon.”Mark reassures, Eduardo oddly and almost demeaningly ruffling Mark’s hair before disappearing into the building. Mark sighs to himself and lowers his head into his hands.

Mark doesn’t understand what a guy like Eduardo likes so much about him. Even before all of this, this thorny, confusing, fucked-up unlabeled thing they have going on, he never got why Eduardo wanted to be his friend. Eduardo’s cool, confident, rich, and, notably, foreign; a Brazilian Jew is quite the spectacle on campus. People like him. Real people, _old money_ people, not just the AEPi bunch. Okay, there, AEPi was something they shared, but Mark wasn’t so involved with it anyway. He finds the whole thing asinine; a glorified support group for the East Coast Jewish guy archetype who’s attached to his mother, seldom gets girls, and most importantly not well-liked here. Dustin loves the fraternity, and Eduardo enjoys it here and there. To Mark it represents what he feels is beneath him. He never wanted to be relegated to campus Jewish life, and dreads that he, at least for the moment, is. Mark wants to break the glass ceiling and reach Ivy League gentry; to really _do_ something with his prowess. Eduardo’s much more passive, and Mark prefers to attribute that to the Saverins’ preexisting wealth rather than any discrepancies between their self-esteem.

Eduardo likes Mark. Mark doesn’t know why.

-

The two of them gracelessly run down the hallway of Eduardo’s dorm. They’re both a little tipsy off the spiked fruit punch being served at the party in a large bowl Mark’s pretty sure is from the designated meat cupboard in Hillel’s kosher kitchen. Turning the key to his room, Eduardo pets Mark’s arm. He’s being specifically touchy tonight. Eduardo’s former roommate moved into an apartment with his girlfriend earlier in the year and housing didn't bother Eduardo with a replacement, so he and Mark can always come here and escape the two dorks back in the suite at Kirkland who though lovable have the capacity to be _very_ annoying. As the door shuts, Eduardo closes in on Mark, whose back is now against the wall, and caresses his mouth with his fingers.

“Hey.” Mark protests.

“Shh.”

Mark pulls Eduardo closer and kisses him fervently, breaking apart for a second to take his friend’s hat off and toss it to the ground.

“You look fucking stupid.”

“You love it.” Eduardo taunts.

“I don’t.” Mark insists, Eduardo reaching under Mark’s shirt and brushing his hand over his waistband in coy retribution.

Mark flinches, and Eduardo leers at him like he’s got an idea. The vent whirs, Mark perceives. Eduardo suddenly lowers to his knees.

“Woah?” Mark’s stunned, and, honestly, delighted. If he wants to, it’s not like he’s going to try to _stop_ him.

“What.”

“Um, are you sure?” He stumbles back a bit as Eduardo unzips his shorts.

“Yes.” Eduardo declares.

“Okay, wait, over there.” Mark roguishly pulls Eduardo up from the floor by the hand and leads him, then sits on Eduardo’s bed.

“This is fun.” Eduardo laughs as he says it, reinforcing to himself that this is just that. Recreational.

“Yeah…” Mark stares wide-eyed and astounded down at Eduardo.

In this state, lustful and a little intoxicated, it’s hard for Mark to stop himself from looking, but he’s not rationally sure he’ll be able to deal with having the image in his mind later. He gazes up at the ceiling for now and hopes for the best.

Eduardo’s good at it. Not that Mark’s an expert on what that means, but he’s doing well. And he _looks_ good. It works for Mark, _really_ works, and it disgusts him, which in some twisted way enhances the whole experience. His best friend. Wardo, of all people, giving a blowjob. This laid-back popular kid from Brazil he met in freshman year at the frat house while Israeli techno blasted and bong smoke diffused around the room.

He tells Eduardo, in a paroxysm of desire, to swallow, and he does. There’s that clarity again. Like God’s testing him. How can something feel so divine, so rapturous, so _right_ one second and so illicit and gross the next? Eduardo picks himself up off the floor. His expression’s vacant as he wordlessly escapes to the bathroom, from where he audibly gargles with mouthwash. Mark hears the shower turn on and the door shut, Eduardo closing himself off in every sense of the word.It bids Mark to lay down and pretend he’s tired until it comes true. They won’t talk about this tonight. Maybe not ever, unless Eduardo cracks a barren joke about it when they’re drunk or something. Not anytime soon.

Eduardo emerges, wrapped in a towel and smelling nice, all woodsy and boyish. Mark would normally savor this, but he’s distracted. It’s tense, and when Eduardo grabs some sweats and a Lacoste t-shirt to put on he heads back to the bathroom. Letting Mark see him change is a privilege that’s only granted when Eduardo’s self-loathing’s placated; when his mood is high. When he returns, he climbs into bed next to Mark, blasé and withdrawn.

“Goodnight.” Mark prods, figuring his friend’s characteristic politeness will overcome.

Eduardo sighs.

“Boa noite.” He tiredly replies, the slightest tinge of smug Eduardo affection piercing through his despondency.

Laying there in the blue one-A.M. shadows, backs intentionally turned away from one another, they still can’t help but smile.

Parties would be okay, Mark thinks, if they all ended like Caribbean Night.


End file.
